Bullet with Butterfly Wings
by Sarah Rose Serena
Summary: The end is dark and too far. But the monster by her side is better than living forever alone in the darkness of eternity. Five Years Gone Universe. The untold story of Claire and Faux Nathan's encounter at Petrelli Manor. Claire/Sylar


"_D__angerous Desire__s"_

_**Bullet with Butterfly Wings**_

_Heroes_

"_Five Years Gone Universe"_

**…**

Claire stood before the mantel of what was once called home. Staring at the array of family photos displayed there, her eyes were far and distant. A particular photo of herself squeezed between Nathan and Peter caught her attention. Four years ago, after the bomb, before everything went to hell… the brief moment in time where she'd finally felt content with where she was. Nathan made her feel like she belonged, and Peter made her feel safe. It didn't last long before everything fell apart. She actually hadn't been back since that day.

"I thought you were dead." Her father's voice startled her out of her memories, and she spun around to see him coming through the archway towards her."You have no idea how important you are to me, Claire." He didn't seem overjoyed to see she was alive, but she didn't expect it. His words were simply pretense, she understood that. His voice and expression still as unaffected and stoic as ever…

"I'm not important. I'm just a waitress." Claire responded automatically, and felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her at the similarities between her words now and her words all those years ago, when she first met her hero. _'I'm just a cheerleader.'_

"We both know that isn't true." He retorted with a wry smile, pulling her into a stiff, unfeeling hug. It felt unfamiliar and out of place, and that nagged at her uncomfortably. Brushing it off as expected after five years of this hell, of their situation, Claire pulled back, looking up at him with bitter blame.

"You made everyone afraid of us." She snapped angrily, taking a small step back to force his hands to drop from her arms.

"I made everyone aware of us. Fear is just the natural response. You can't blame them, really. We're more powerful then they are, more important, _special_." Claire's brow furrowed and her head tilted slightly, looking up at him suspiciously. The change in his tone, the look in his eyes, and the familiar inflection of his voice as he used those specific words hit her hard. Something was wrong, and all she wanted was to get out of there, to go back to Midland. It didn't feel like home, never had, and Andy may have been a poor substitute for what she once had, before the world turned dark and cold, but it was the only haven she still knew.

"Who are you to decide who's special and who's not?" She challenged, glowering up at him in accusation, indignant of his self-righteous perspective. She pushed past him, totally over with the _visit_ and ready to get out of there. Before she made it more than two steps past him, his hand snaked around her arm, spinning her back to him. Claire's head snapped around to look up at him in incredulous shock. Her eyes darting down to where his grip turned bruising for a moment before releasing her. Another sign of how much he was _not_ the man she remembered.

"I'm the leader of the free world. For all I know, I'm the most special person there is." His voice lowered to a smooth whisper as he leaned into her, making Claire's skin crawl inexplicably. She wanted to pull back, but found her body frozen as she stared up into his dark eyes, that feeling of displacement growing stronger and stronger within her until she thought she couldn't take it.

"Lord knows I found enough power. A lot of _special people_… like this girl named Candice who allowed me to become president." Claire's breath hitched in her throat, her heart stopped dead before jump starting into acceleration, pounding painfully against her ribcage. Her eyes were wide, still struggling to both deny and grasp the realization that was in the process of hitting her.

"But I'm done. I just want to eliminate the competition. I don't need any more power… especially not after you." Forcing through her state of shock and panic with a burst of adrenaline, Claire pulled back, spinning on her heels and preparing to make a run for it before an iron grip wrapped around her body just a few feet short of the doorway. The pain brutally slashing into her skull burned with fiery heat, her body breaking out into a symphony of contradicting painful sensations, none of which she could seem to process. And as the blood seeped down her face in streaks his name came easily to her lips, far too late to do her any good.

"Sylar…"

"I've waited a long time for this." He told her, the façade of her dead father falling to be replaced by the monster that had haunted her dreams for the last five years. One last breath released from her in a sigh of finale before her body went cold and limp. Slinking towards the floor before he intercepted, setting her down on the settee nearby. The last sensation she felt was his hand brushing away sticky chocolate locks from her face as her eyes fluttered closed.

**…**

The dark abyss receded into a dimly lit bedroom. Claire lay on her back in the plush bed for a long time, staring up at the ceiling as she struggled to regain her motor functions and memory, and recollect what exactly was going on. She was surrounded by satin, the duvet of the bed that felt as soft as clouds underneath her, the slinky chemise that she was somehow wearing sliding across her skin in a soothing caress every miniscule movement she made. She had to admit, despite the grogginess, she felt pretty damn awesome.

Finally, with a deep breath, Claire pushed herself up into a seated position on the bed, propping herself up with her hands and uncrossing her ankles cautiously as she took in her surroundings. The room was lush and extravagant, nothing she recognized. The curtains were drawn over what looked like a balcony, letting in only slivers of light to bask the dark room in. It wasn't harsh on her eyes, so she didn't complain.

She pushed herself up from the bed, her bare feet padding across the plush carpet as she crossed the room, stopping in front of a mantel covered in photos. That's when it clicked. This was her room, though it had changed drastically, it was still the same room she'd stayed in at the Petrelli mansion when she'd moved in with her father.

Claire's fingers danced imperceptibly over the array of photos, fingering the expensive frames and familiar yet long-gone faces. The tactile sensation triggered something, and bits of images flickered before her eye as she remembered what it was that had gotten her here. Just then, the door opened, and Nathan walked into her room. Claire spun around to face him defensively, spreading her stance and backing away slowly, keeping a safe distance between them.

"You're awake." He stated unaffectedly, his eyes roaming over her in silent examination. Claire bit the inside of her lip to stay quiet, refusing to speak to him in that mask. He wasn't Nathan, and she wouldn't acknowledge him as long as he tried to pretend to be. She noticed the small twitch of his lips in the form of a subtle grin before he nodded in acquiescent to her resolve, and let the façade slip away. Claire was startled for a second, panicked that he could read her mind, before she retreated behind a protective shield of indifference.

"I'm alive." She breathed out hesitantly, following him with her eyes as he rounded the bed and moved towards her, his movements languid and sleek, reminding her of a predator's stalk. The dark smile did nothing to assuage her.

"You sound surprised." He retorted smoothly, cocking a brow as he stepped closer to her, invading her personal space. But there was nowhere for her to retreat to, so she stood her ground, raising her chin in the air to meet his eyes evenly, the major height difference adding to his superiority.

"I thought…" Claire's words faltered uncertainly, her eyes averting from him as her head turned to the side, brow furrowing in confusion.

"You thought I would kill you."

"What else would I think?" She snapped back unthinkingly, turning back to meet his gaze. The amusement in his dark eyes infuriated her, and without thinking, her body reacted, before her mind could stop it, and she stepped back a few inches, steadying herself as she swung her arm, right hooking him in the jaw, and making his head snap back.

She didn't try to run. She knew it would be useless and only make matters worse. But she was scared. Claire watched, frozen stiff and too proud to waver, as he turned back towards her slowly, a dark smirk on his face. The blood that trickled down from the corner of his lip was wiped away languidly, his eyes burning into her as she watched the cut heal immediately, and cursing her self for giving him invulnerability.

"_Mm_…" He murmured tauntingly, a sadistic smile spreading his lips, his eyes darkening in pleasure at the look on her face. "I was told you were all grown up. Cheerleader to stone cold killer, if I remember correctly…" He taunted her, stepping closer until she could feel his cool breath on her face and feel the heat from his body.

"I'm not a killer." She retorted defensively, arching her back to avoid having to back away. One more step back and she'd be pressed against the wall, which wasn't going to happen. Her insides curled at his laughter.

"There's no use lying to me, Claire. Even without the ability to tell, I'd know." Sylar stepped in again, pressing his body to hers, and Claire found her back up against that wall to avoid touching him, his hands on either side of her shoulders, leaning in to speak into her ear in a hushed tone. "I know everything about you, Claire." When he pulled back and she looked up into his eyes, startled and ready to protest, she realized what he meant.

"You've been watching me?"

"You thought you could hide from me?" He questioned laughingly, mocking her. "I've known every move you've ever made in the past five years. Daddy couldn't hide you well enough to keep me away."

"Then what took you so long?" She demanded challengingly, raising her brow skeptically, pushing him back and brushing past him.

"Biding my time, I wanted it to last…" He replied in a dark voice, hushed from behind her as her steps towards the door froze of her own accord. He stalked towards her, coming up behind her to lean into the curve of her neck tauntingly. Claire stood ramrod, relentless and unyielding on the outside, curious and terrified on the inside.

"Well now you have it." She spoke slowly, uncertainly, trying to keep the waver out of her voice. She turned on the spot, spinning to face him, and forcing him to pull back slightly. "What now?"

"That depends."

"On what…?"

"On you," He replied shortly, making it seem so simple. Yet she still couldn't understand what he was doing. Taking a deep breath, Claire turned away, a far off look in her eyes.

"Earlier: you spoke of eliminating the competition. You're planning on exterminating us, aren't you? _Genocide_… only something _you_ would be capable of doing to your own kind."

"You are absolutely right. Only I would be capable…"

"Then why did you keep me alive? What do you want?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"I'm blinded by disdain. Why don't you clarify?"

"I'd almost forgotten about that mouth of yours."

"Enough games. Just get to the point, Sylar."

"The point, Cheerleader, is that with my plans already set in motion, at this point I have everything I want… except you." With that one would-be simple statement, Claire's mind was thrust into overdrive, her thoughts swarming chaotically as if she were unable to catch her breath. He must have picked up one of the more logical thoughts in her mind because he reacted before she was given the chance to.

"Don't be so conceded, Claire." He remarked abrasively, moving to circle her with an air of almost disinterest. Her eyes narrowed at his words, spinning to face him in accusation.

"You say you have everything you want but me, and I'm the one that's being conceded? What am I supposed to think?" She snapped in irritation, crossing her arms over her chest and jutting out a hip as she scowled up at him in distaste. "Explain it to me."

"You and I are now the only two immortals left. With an empire at my feet, the only weariness left to tend to is an equal at my side. That's you Claire… the only one worthy enough to be my companion."

"You mean the only one that you won't outlive." She corrected with a snarl, before backtracking when the first part of his statement caught her attention. "And we aren't the only two immortals. Peter will-" Her declaration was cut off by his cruel laughter, eyeing her in mock pity.

"You missed quite a lot while you were recovering, Claire. Peter Petrelli is dead."

"That's not possible." She spit out surely, pulling back and turning her back on him, refusing to allow him to see the doubt in her eyes. The words stopped her heart for too long a moment, but it was ridiculous, just another one of his games meant to torment her. Peter couldn't die. He wouldn't…

She screwed her eyes shut tightly and took in controlling breaths as she felt him approach from behind her, his hands gripping her shoulders. "You're lying."

"I've never lied to you, Claire. I've never needed to. In fact, I'm probably the only person in your life that doesn't lie to you." His words were soft, his lips brushing against dark locks of hair cascading down her shoulders, framing her face, and sticking to her cheeks as several tears escaped her control. He turned her slowly in his arms until she was facing him again, and lifted her chin to force her to meet his gaze. There was no compassion in his eyes, but there was no more cruelty either.

"If…" She began, pausing to take a shaky breath to get strengthen her voice. "If I refuse, will you let me go?"

"It wasn't a request." He replied softly, brushing back the sticky locks from her face. Claire's jaw twitched as she grasped for her control, restraining herself from becoming violent with him again. It would only make things worse. She had to be sensible, smart… logical. She had to be in control. "Besides," He continued suddenly, the look in his eyes making it obvious he was following her thoughts closely. "If I did, where would you go? Back to Texas…?"

"I have a fiancé waiting for me." She replied strongly, bringing thoughts of Andy up into the forefront of her mind. Sylar smiled forcibly, shaking his head dismissively at her.

"No you don't. And even if he was, you really think he's enough for you? You'd watch him grow old, feeble and sick. He'd die, and you'd be left alone… again." His dark smile widened as he realized he'd hit home. "That's what it's always been about for you, after all… being alone. It's what keeps you up at night, it's what makes you hide in the shower, the running water blocking out your sobs."

"Stop," She snapped roughly, pushing him away angrily. He didn't know anything about her. And the more he acted as if he understood her the more she hated him for it.

"I do understand, Claire. And you do, more than anyone ever realized, you understand perfectly just what your ability means for you. An eternity with no one but yourself to keep you safe, to take care of you… You'd never fully feel content, or protected."

"I don't need protection!" She snapped defensively, spinning around in a sharp movement to face him again, glowering up at him. Stalking towards him aggressively, she brought a pleasured smirk to his expression as she faced off with him, her anger besting her.

"No, you certainly don't. But you _want_ it." His words seem to deflate her completely, everything, including her anger, fading from her in one heavy breath of resignation. Her shoulders slumped and her heart slowed as her expression turned tired. She shook her head slowly, mostly to herself.

"What choice do I have?" She muttered hopelessly, all the fight momentarily leaving her. She turned her back on him again, gliding towards the window, her hand fisting in the heavy material of the drapes and holding it aside to look out at the destruction around them.

"You have a choice between acceptance and struggle. You can let go of your old life, and realize that without everything else, this is what you want. Or you can hold onto the mentality of black and white, hold your grudges and your morals, and be miserable. We have forever, Claire. Might as well spend it wisely…" She licked her lips, a crease of contemplation in her brow as she listened to his words distantly.

The room fell into silence, and after a moment, she felt him leave, closing the door behind him. Claire glanced over her shoulder to make sure he was gone before turning back to the window with a look of forced determination. Flinging the drapes aside, the harsh sunlight soaked the room suddenly, hurting her eyes. She left it open, wanting to feel her senses challenged, just to make sure this was real, she was still alive… somewhat.

**…**

Claire woke to find herself cocooned in Egyptian cotton sheets and a satin comforter, pillows propped around her, under her, and her body curled against something warm and hard. A reluctant smile played at her lips as her eyes remained closed, basking in the momentary heavenly sensation. Her body was in complete relaxation, and she was pretty sure there was no feeling better than this… physically anyway.

Her forehead pulled tight into a crease and her face scrunched, burrowing in the pillow against her to block out the sensation of waking that was creeping up on her. With a resigned sigh, her eyes drifted open, her body pulling taut as she stretched like a cat. It wasn't until she rolled onto her side and noticed the body beside her that the relaxation was chased away by tension.

Claire shot up in bed, shoving away from him and across the bed, swinging her legs around until her knees were pulled up in front of her, in between them. Covers crumpling in her lap as she shoved his shoulder, jolting him awake. He didn't seem surprised at all, simply groaned and angled his head on the pillows to watch her as he still lay back in the bed, completely relaxed.

"What the hell?" She exclaimed softly, frowning down at him, her tussled hair falling into her face as she pulled her legs underneath her, gaining even more ground on him. He wasn't bothered by it, and in fact seemed completely oblivious to her attitude.

"I got in late, didn't want to wake you." He responded disinterestedly, letting his eyes reclose. Claire pulled back, looking around the room again with fresh eyes. That was why it had seemed so different. He'd turned her old bedroom into his master suite. _Bastard_… he just had to take everything away from her, take over every bit of her. She turned back to him, recoiling from the hand that fell onto her knee in disgust.

"That's sick." She snarled at him, pulling the comforter up to cover the white satin chemise that was way too revealing and was the only thing he'd given her to wear. Well, technically he hadn't given her anything to wear; she'd just woken up in it, and didn't bother looking for clothes. He turned to her, his eyes scanning her face intently. His hand found her bare arm, and knuckles dragged up to her shoulder, making her involuntarily erupt in shivers, almost unnoticeable.

"_That's_ _sick_." She repeated, spitting it out and looking away from him. After a moment, she heard him chuckle amusedly, then sigh resignedly. She turned back just in time to watch her father's face fade into Sylar.

"You're right. That is _extremely_ sick." He commented casually, snaking an arm around her waist, spinning her, and dragging her to him smoothly… all before she realized what was happening.

She tried to pull away at first, but he slid her up onto his lap, sitting up so that her back was pressed to his chest. His grip was immovable, and she didn't try for long before turning to stone against him, refusing to play the part of his toy.

He burrowed into her hair, the stubble along his jaw scraping against the curve of her neck as he leaned in to whisper to her. "Then again, you always seemed to be attracted to sick things, didn't you?" His words made a shiver run down her spine, and she couldn't tell whether it was from disdain or something else, but she was favoring towards disdain.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She snapped angrily.

"It means that I was just testing to see whether or not your affection for the youngest Petrelli brother extended to all the handsome males in the family… your family." She moved to ram her head back into his nose just to piss him off, but he shifted before she could, pressing her head against his collarbone as her body sunk deeper to fit encased in his. His arm around her waist tightened securely until she could barely wriggle an inch.

"I don't have _those_ kinds of daddy issues. And as for Peter: just mind your own damn business. He has nothing to do with this."

"Really…? And what exactly is _this_?" He questioned mockingly, his other hand moving to graze up her thigh, pulling the slippery satin material up her legs to reveal an expanse of sun kissed skin. Claire grew stiffer as his hand moved closer and closer to her center, smoothing over her inner thigh teasingly… his touch surprisingly gentle.

Claire's head tilted back, pressing harder into his shoulder as she writhed uncertainly above him, her body and mind fighting over whether she was struggling to get away or increase friction between them. Her movements made his hips involuntarily arch upwards against her, his arm encircling her waist tightening yet again. At the last moment, her hand snaked out, snatching his wrist and stopping him from moving any closer to her apex.

"I was forced to get an abortion because of you." She said suddenly, her fierce tone overthrowing her breathy voice. Claire's neck craned around to meet his curious gaze with her own hard, unforgiving one. "You're sick…" She said pointedly, her voice soft and harsh.

"…turning your own kind into something less than human… Why would I let you touch me?" Her words were venomous and her eyes were filled with murder. It made him want her even more. And the fact that she remained unwavering against him, taunting him just as badly as he'd taunted her, in revenge, only made the urge to have her intensify within him. She knew exactly what she was doing, and why she was doing it. And for the first time in over five years, Sylar was at a loss for words.

He leaned forward, trying to capture her lips, but she used her back against his chest to keep him in position as she leaned her head away from him, keeping just barely out of reach, and bringing a dark smirk to his lips.

"Because you want me to, just as badly as I want you… you only resist in an attempt to stop from being the hypocrite you feel like." His words broke the facedown staring war, and the tense moment suddenly collapsed. He lurched forward, crashing his mouth down onto hers and wrapping his arm around her neck, forcing her forward.

In one smooth, sudden movement, he flipped them, pinning her underneath him to the bed, and using his free hand to glide upwards, locking her wrists above her head. Claire's legs snaked up, wrapping around his waist and digging her heels into his lower back, forcing him down against her. The girl twined her tongue with his hungrily, stealing his breath before pulling back and biting down on his lip till she tasted blood. Sylar broke away with a sharp hiss, laughing as he caught the ruthless look in her eye, and licked his lips to clean away the blood before moving back down to her.

**…**

Claire awoke to the sound of silence. She rolled over in bed with a deep sigh, stretching out the kinks in her muscles and swallowing through the soreness of her throat. She pushed herself up in bed, fingers lingering absently over her throat as she threw the thick duvet out of the way and stood up, looking around the room for any signs of life. When she found none, she scurried into the adjoined bathroom, locking the door behind her. She was so not in the mood to deal with him right now.

After taking advantage of the spacious marble tub for longer than necessary, Claire wrapped herself in the terrycloth robe that hung on the hook on the door and went out to the bedroom suite in search of clothing. After locating a bureau that was packed with her own clothes, surprisingly, and getting dressed, Claire moved to leave the sanctity of the bedroom, peeking out into the hall to make sure she was alone. She half expected to find a commando guard posted outside the door to the bedroom. But there was no one there.

After taking a hesitant tour of the upstairs, Claire descended the staircase, moving towards the kitchen as she glanced around, finding the place empty, much to her relief. She moved around the kitchen easily, remembering her previous time here, and made herself some toast… about all she thought her stomach could handle at the moment. She was too anxious for much else.

Claire moved to the breakfast nook with her plate and was about to curl up on one of the chairs and stare out the window into oblivion when she found a newspaper resting on the table, spread out in display so obviously for her. She set her plate aside, pressing her thighs into the table as she stood over it, fingering the paper gingerly as she read over the front page. She was so focused on the article that she didn't sense him approach until he was standing right behind her. She suppressed a startled jump, and took in a deep breath with a forced sense of calm, _hostile_ calm, but still calm. She picked up the newspaper, only to toss it aside like useless trash in disdain.

"They say you've found a cure for evolution. That's quite a trick." She said quietly, her voice low and distant as she turned to face him. She had expected his façade to be in place, but it still jarred her to see Nathan staring back at her. She didn't think she'd ever get used to that.

"These are the people you want the world full of, morons and bigots with no potential?" Claire questioned, leaning back against the table as she watched him. "I would have assumed a great leader would want great followers… and yet…" She let her words trail off, knowing it wasn't necessary to continue. She waited for him to respond, but he simply stood there in front of her, unhinging her with his intense stare. After she realized he wouldn't play, she sighed heavily, turning her head to the side with far off eyes, and let the indifferent façade fade to her weary self.

"You're still doing this then?" She questioned futilely, her voice still soft, but sounding more tired than as confident as it had before. Finally, he reacted to her sincerity.

"You thought you could screw me and change my mind? Quite the _Femme Fatale_ mentality you've developed, Cheerleader." Nathan taunted, displaying his amusement at her hope and rubbing salt in her wounds. He leaned in to her, bending down to whisper in her ear. But before he could, she planted a hand on his chest and shoved him away with force that surprised—and pleased—him. She opened her mouth to spit out some scathing comment as she glowered at him, only to be interrupted by a throat clearing from the doorway. Both of their heads snapped to the side, taking in the unwelcome guest's arrival.

"Parkman." Nathan greeted diplomatically, a superior tone to his voice that made it clear just how unwelcome he was while keeping it veiled. Claire turned to glower at her betrayer as he entered the room, and then shrunk back at the suspicious look he sent her. She was tempted to consider whether he had overheard any of their conversation, but quickly threw up the mental shields she'd learned to hold against telepaths before he could pick anything more out of her mind.

Both men glanced warily at Claire before ushering themselves out into the foyer for somewhat privacy. Claire turned her back on them, sitting down and munching on her toast halfheartedly while her mind remained focused on their hushed words. She couldn't pick up much, but the bits she did were stored away for further consideration.

Words like—_disrupt… schedule… unexpected… doubts_—were filed away under hopeful, and names like—_Suresh and Bennett_—went under suspicious. She knew Mohinder Suresh had turned on them, and had been head researcher for the President for years, but she had no idea why they might be discussing Bennett at a time like this. Her dad had made a deal that kept him safe and allowed him to help innocents escape the wrath of the free world. Had that fallen through? Was he now on the run? Or captured?

Claire set the discarded piece of toast down on her plate slowly as she listened with baited breath until Parkman's footsteps faded and the front door clicked closed. A thought occurred to her as Sylar made his way towards her, façade un-assumed. He was masquerading as the President. Wasn't there usually a fleet of Secret Service that came along with that title? How come she had not seen one single guard since she had gotten here?

"Typically," He spoke without preamble, startling her from her thoughts as he addressed them. "But I have my own way of doing things, in order to accommodate special circumstances."

"If I wanted you to answer, I would have asked you." She responded defiantly, staring steadfast out the window as the black Mercury drove away. Her hostility was momentarily overlooked in favor of curiosity. "How come you're not worried about parading around in front of windows without your costume?"

"What windows?" He questioned, chuckling at her expression as he leaned back in the chair beside her, resting his elbow on the table as he faced her.

"Are you _trying_ to piss me off?" She retorted sourly, turning to scowl at him, his indulgent grin simply infuriating her. He waved a hand towards the window in front of them absently, and Claire turned to see a strange blurred, thick, clear substance waver like gelatin around the window before returning to normal.

"I'm an illusionist, love. There are no windows."

"You mean… we can see out and they can see in, but it's adulterated?" She asked uncertainly, her eyes following a pair of teenagers walking down the street. She turned back after a moment of silence with no reply, and found him watching her. He nodded slowly in response to her question. A long moment passed as they simply stared at each other, making her extremely uneasy. But there was a sense of connection there, pretenses dropped, just genuine that made her want to use it. She turned in her chair, twisting to face him, and slanted her body towards him, her eyes pleading to hold onto that connection.

"I want to understand." She said quietly, brushing her tussled hair back with one hand, and biting her lip. "Why are you doing all of this? Isn't it enough that you have all the power you could want? Why try to tear the world apart even worse than it already is?" … "Those are our people. You're one of us, Sylar, whether you want to be or not. Why try to destroy us?" Her words were met with silence, and she had to turn away to get her emotions under control before she returned her gaze to his. Licking her lips, Claire stood up from the table, distancing herself from him. She rounded the table to stand in the doorway, her back to his. She would have just let it go, just retreated from there before she let her shields down any more than they already were, but she couldn't.

"You know what I think? I think you've been here too long. You've been hiding behind personas, in search of more and more power, that you've become completely detached from the world." She told him, finally turning back towards him to find his back still towards her, his eyes on the window to the outside world. She moved closer, one step at a time, until she was standing right behind him.

"You could have all the power in the world, Sylar. You could be anything, do anything, hell… you could be last man standing on earth. But what the hell are you going to do with it all? When are you going to learn that power means nothing? All the power in the world isn't going to give you meaning, it isn't going to make you happy, or fulfilled." She let her hand rest on his shoulder, dragging along his arm softly as she rounded the chair to kneel in front of him.

"In the end… being special won't matter. I just hope you learn before it's too late." She finished softly, her voice thick with emotion and her eyes truthful. She watched him watch her for a long while, motionless, before she moved away, back upstairs to hide in the bedroom. He knew her words were truth, or she believed them to be anyway. She knew he did, but she doubted it would matter to him. She didn't really think she could make him understand, make him change his mind… but she had to try, she had to keep trying. There would be no upraising. She couldn't do anything. Even if she knew what she wanted to do… there would be no way for her to succeed. The only shred of hope she had was to make him see.

That thought alone just made her cry again. And she fell asleep with dried tears and sticky hair stuck to her face, a wet stain on her pillow, and a major headache. She just wasn't cut out for this. Why in the entire world would _she_ be the one to live forever? She wasn't even worth one lifetime.

**…**

She opened her eyes to find him leaning against the closest wall, watching her. The room was dark, shadows encroaching on every side of her. Claire rested, curled on her side, hugging a pillow against her midsection, hair splayed out around the pillow her head was buried in.

"You've been sleeping a lot lately." His voice cut through the night's silence. Her eyes just wanted to close again, her muscles ached for rest. Her mind was too tired to want to move.

"I'm tired. It's not a crime." She replied, her biting comment coming out a despondent whisper.

"You're depressed." He countered evenly, pushing away from the wall to move towards her. Instead of joining her on the bed, he crouched down beside her, bringing them close to eye level. She searched his face in the dark, unsure of what she was looking for, and not understanding what she found.

"I'm ecstatic." She drawled sarcastically, playing with the hem of the pillow she was hugging.

"You were supposed to accept this."

"I am accepting. I haven't tried to escape, have I? I'm all about acceptance. See me accept." She replied despondently, moving to roll over, to turn her back on him dismissively, but his hand darted out, snatching her arm and holding her in place until she relented and returned to her position curled up on her side.

"What happened to the fighter? You've been nothing but weak and pathetic since I brought you here. It's unlike the young girl I remember." Sylar spoke, his eyes searching hers for that spark that always intrigued him. He couldn't find it.

"I don't want to fight!" She snapped, her anger overriding the fatigue as she sprung up in bed to glower at him. "My whole life has been nothing but fighting. I'm tired of it. I don't know what's real anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"My entire life has been nothing but masks and lies, all of it. I'm tired. I don't want to be strong, or powerful. It doesn't matter. Nothing's real. I just…" Her words trailed off as the burst of anger faded, and she fell back in bed miserably, dragging the pillow back to her with a resigned sigh. "Just let me sleep."

Sylar pulled back, watching her uncertainly as she closed her eyes, dragging the comforter up over her head and settled in once again. He frowned down at the white duvet covering her. She was acting like an unsatisfied child. And he just didn't know what to do with her. This was not what he expected… or wanted from her. It didn't occur to him he'd have to make her happy. And even if he wanted to, he wouldn't know how. But why would he care? She should just… She should…

"Get up." He said, yanking the comforter from her, and grabbing her shoulders, hauling her up into a sitting position. Her eyes snapped open to glare at him, but even that was a sad attempt of what she used to be capable of.

"What is your problem?" She exclaimed dully, pouting unintentionally as he shook her by the arms. Claire threw the pillow she was hugging away from them, and turned to face him fully. "What do you want from me?"

"I-" He faltered at that, lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, his grip releasing her as he stared at her, suddenly unsure. The expectant look on her face faded into disinterest and she lowered herself back to the bed, looking up at him despondently.

"You don't know." She answered for him, seeing it in his eyes. "You can't tell me the real reason you brought me here, because you don't know. But I do… you were lonely. Whether you can admit it to yourself or not, you know just as well as I do how useless being powerful is when you're alone." Claire's head tilted to the side as she rested against the pillows, looking up to watch him. He looked down at her with reservation, inwardly grappling to gather himself and respond to her in a way that would normally be natural to Sylar. But he was losing perspective, and finding it hard to decide how he wanted to respond to her.

Seeing her opening, Claire took a deep breath, pushing away the fatigue in her body, and rising to face him evenly. She brushed her hand up to tuck her tangled waves behind her ear with a tilt of her head and an arch of her brow as she bit her lip, watching him.

"If you want me here with you… just tell me why. I want to know the truth. I want you to be real with me… please." She asked softly, leaning towards him.

"I'm not a good man, I'm a killer. You can't change that." He told her harshly, making her slanting pause as she considered him, frowning slightly.

"That's got nothing to do with it. You're deflecting." She retorted evenly, losing the vulnerability her voice had just held.

"What do you want me to do?" He questioned suspiciously, his dark eyes searching her face, measuring variables of her unexpected behavior.

"I'm tired of this life. I'm miserable and scared and ready to give up. I want you to do something about it." She couldn't believe what was coming out of her mouth. Even more, she couldn't believe she meant it. To look back on a point in her life where everything shifted, and she hadn't even noticed the change. She met his eyes and a moment of understanding passed between them. Her head tilted, hair curtaining her face as his hand grazed over the curve of her neck, pulling her closer, slowly and surely, until their lips met. It wasn't particularly loving or innocent, but it was the sweetest touch they'd ever shared, and that was something. And even as it deepened, and she moved to pull him down to her on the bed, they both knew that her words were not about _this here_, but something else, something more. Something they'd have to figure out later.

**…**

_Seven Years Gone…_

Claire leaned against the balcony of her bedroom, looking out over the darkened mountains. An American newspaper clutched in her hands as the breeze rustled her long honey blonde locks.

_**P**__resident __**P**__etrelli __**A**__ssassinated_

The headline read, from two weeks ago. Her eyes roamed over some of the smaller articles, detailing the end of the Rebellion against Petrelli's campaign and the secretive talks of forming an alliance between Petrelli and Sanders, the leader of the Rebellion. A small smile played on her lips as she reread the words she'd memorized by heart days ago.

"_A sure and swift end to what was sure to be the beginning of a promising future of peace and the end of warfare between evolved and non-evolved humans. President Nathan Petrelli's death was tragic and abrupt, unforeseen. The terrorist cell of non-evolved-s which created outrage at the news of Petrelli's surprising transition excelled in compromising the hope of a united country. The President's death has sent the alliance spiraling into uncertain panic, but Vice President Bennett, who has been clear in his allegiances and intentions of uniting the two species, has stepped up. And out of the ashes of this abrupt disheartening event, we are all sure that hope remains." –West Rosen, journalist for the New York Times. _

"Claire, have you seen Noah's Mythology book?" Sylar called from inside the bedroom, drawing her attention back to the here and now. Claire turned away from the vast landscape of the countryside, and returned inside, shutting the balcony door behind her. Playing with the end of a lock of her hair, Claire leaned against the doorway, watching him search through the fluffy mounds of covers tussled over their bed in search of the blue hardcover.

"He's supposed to already be asleep." She chided absently, a far off look in her eyes and a crease in her brow. Sylar glanced up at her words, shooting her a sheepish grin before returning to his search efforts. Claire sighed, shaking her head disparagingly and rounding the bed, lifting up her pillow to display their son's favorite bedtime storybook. The young boy loved the stories of Greek Mythology so much, they moved to Greece. Well, there were other, more important reasons for leaving the country, but the point was the same.

"You're such a pushover when it comes to him." She mumbled teasingly, frowning as he snatched the book up, turned and caught her arm as she tried to move away, twirling her suddenly back to him. They fell towards the bed with a soft _oomph_; Claire's quiet giggling being muffled by his mouth.

They rolled for a moment before she reversed their positions, straddling his lap as she stretched to snatch the book out of his hands, but he held it out of her reach, smiling at her efforts and the frustration that resulted at her failure. His eyes roamed over her, taking in the body of an eternally 17 year old girl. The epitome of old souls, they were; stuck in un-aging vessels while the world seemed moving in super speed around them.

Claire's struggling paused when she noticed him staring, and reveled once again at his sudden mood changes. She pressed her hands against his chest, hovering over him as she met his gaze. She saw the same eyes she always had. He was still Sylar, nothing had changed… a part of Gabriel had been resurrected, in order to find a balance between the two.

He was still a monster, though it'd been a long time since she was able to see him as such. The moment of salvation, for her, was the moment he agreed to not go forward with his plans for genocide… to make her happy. That was the moment that changed everything. And though he was still power-hungry, a contentedness had come over him that had satisfied most of his desire to seek more. She often wondered how long it would last. But it was moments like these that convinced her that it wouldn't matter. _The end looks dark and too far, but the monster by her side is better than living forever alone in the dark._

**_The End..._**


End file.
